


America

by ScarletHottie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Angst and Humor, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Harry Potter Next Generation, Horror, M/M, Multi, Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:20:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24762988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletHottie/pseuds/ScarletHottie
Summary: A witch needs her house exorcised. Lysander mistakenly obliges.
Relationships: Albus Severus Potter/Lysander Scamander
Kudos: 1





	America

**Author's Note:**

> JK Rowling is a TERF so I'm ya new author. 
> 
> TRANS RIGHTS ARE HUMAN RIGHTS.
> 
> Enjoy the story, please feel free to leave comments.

There was a small home in the countryside. It was two floors, painted maroon and black with a rather large, bent chimney. It sat on the edge of a forest, a stream flowing quietly in the backyard. The front porch had stacks of chairs, gardening supplies, antique Muggle items, and in the center: a black door with a golden handle. 

Inside, sitting criss-cross on the living room floor, Lysander Scamander was humming an old warlocks' tune. His long, dirty-blonde hair fell like soft vines along his dark, weather-beaten face. He was a tall, stocky, kind-looking dark skinned man, with a strong gaze and a welcoming smile.

After Hogwarts, he took over the Quibbler from his mother, Luna, and given it a complete overhaul. It still spoke of Nargles, Wrackspurts, and Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, but had become a reliable journalistic institution, reporting magical going-ons across Europe, Asia, and Africa. It was selling well, and Lysander's vault at Gringotts was very happy.

Right now, Lysander was not smiling. He was frowning, confused. His dark green eyes blazed at a letter in his hands. It had been addressed to him, hadn't been cursed or poisoned. The content wasn't even threatening. Regardless, Lysander stared, deep in thought. The purple inked letter read:

_DEAR MISTER SCAMANDER,_

_As a lifelong fan of the Quiblur, I'd be delighted if you could join me in Iowa ASAP. My house seems to be haunted by something. None of my spells, potions, everything. Nothing is working. Nothing. I hope as the editor of the finest publication in England, Newt Scamander's great grandson, that you should be able to identify and rid me of this creature. I haven't slept in three weeks._   
  
_Enclosed is some Muggle money for your trip. Once you've entered the United States, this letter becomes a portkey to my doorstep. Please arrive ASAP._

_Sincerely,_

_Edna Johnson._

Lysander blinked. Not only did the Quibbler have fans outside its publication range, but one who _needed his help_. 

The thought of not going was smothered as quick as it had entered his head, any potential dangers filed away as paranoia. Finally, he leapt up and bolted upstairs three steps at a time, his light blue summer robes whipping behind him.

* * *

The Ministry of Magic bustled beneath London. Sorcerers walked in all directions, some flying on broomstick, trying to catch stray owls who were, in turn, trying to snatch airborne parchment planes. It was loud, too loud for Albus Potter. He had one hand in the pocket of his royal purple robes, the other limply out as some sort of guide, slicing through the crowd as he made his way along the glittering black floor. At the end of the atrium, he came to the registration desk. 

The wizard behind the desk, Martin, didn't seem to notice Albus. In fact, he was asleep. A comic was sprawled across his face, his fingers still pressed to it in a pathetically desperate attempt to hold onto it. Albus cleared his throat. Nothing. He tapped the gold bars separating them. Nothing. 

Albus's hand moved toward his wand, his rosy cheeks becoming dark red with frustration, but he decided against it. "Oi!" He snapped. 

"Wha-" The disheveled, groggy receptionist stirred awake, sliding the comic off his face and tossing it to the side. "Name." He said bluntly, lethargically. 

Albus huffed. The man was rude, but at least they were getting somewhere. "Albus." He said simply. 

"Dumbledore...?" 

"Potter." He muttered.

Martin scoffed. "Is it true that Har-"

"Mind your business." Said Albus sharply. 

The man glared at Albus, and nodded with the slightest respect. He waved his hand and Albus could see a quill scribbling. "And the business _you'll_ be minding today?"

"I need to see the Minister." 

Martin laughed. "Take a number." He tore a piece of parchment that read '346', and handed it to Albus.

"THREE HUNDRED AND FORTY SIX?" Albus cried, emerald green eyes widening. "She's my aunt!"

Martin waved his wand with a yawn and gestured to a nearby corridor. "Queue's down the left hall, thank you, Mister Potter." His comic fell back onto his face, he put his feet up, and again, fell asleep.

* * *

Lysander was sat on a bench outside the Minister for Magic's office. He was shoulder to shoulder with a mass of people, all crowded into the hallway, all gossiping, reading, or sitting in silence. A smooth voice called, "Two hundred three!", and the frail-looking, elderly witch next to Lysander got up, meeting an indifferent-looking assistant who led her through the violet double doors into the Minister's office. 

Lysander stared down at the scrap of parchment in his hand. It read '345', and he wondered if the poor Minister would have enough time or sanity left to deal with the inquiries, complaints, applications, and questions. Then again, he thought, she did this every day and was a strong-willed person. Surely, she could handle it. Still, his palms became clammy at the thought of that responsibility. 

As the hours ticked by, his thoughts were an ocean. He thought of America, the witch who sent him the letter, and whether or not he would be paid for the service. Not that it mattered; his father, Rolf, had always said, "If you help someone, you help everyone." 

This moralization, coupled with anxiety about the trip, and the thought of just what could be in that house weighed on Lysander. He was staring at the brick wall in front of him, trying to make sense of this thought cyclone, but the more he thought, the thicker the fog in his brain became. After what seemed like forever, his savior came by way of a short, handsome purple-clad man, about Lysander's age, with messy jet black hair, almond-shaped emerald eyes, and a thin face. 

"Afternoon." Greeted Albus with a warm smile, his first all day. 

Lysander snapped out of his fog. "Huh-oh! Hi!" 

The young men beamed at each other, and the smooth voiced witch called: "THREE HUNDRED FORTY!".

A young witch next to Lysander got up and skipped into the office, the door slamming behind her. Albus sat down, prompting a dirty look from the wizard on the armrest who, evidently, wanted to sit there. 

"What number'r you?" Asked Albus.

Lysander held up the parchment.

"No way!" Albus held up his own parchment. 

Lysander looked from Albus to the parchment, confused. "It's blank."

"What? Oh." He flipped it around. 

"Looks like we're right after one another, if I remember how to count." Quipped Lysander. The young men still smiled at each other, their tones light and their voices soaked in laughter. 

"Looks like." Albus relaxed in his chair, then tensed up again with a sudden jolt of excitement like lightning down his spine. "Hey, Ly..."

"Yes, Monsieur Al?" Lysander replied in an accurate impression of Albus's auntie Fleur. 

Albus snorted, but met his friend's gaze. "What if we go in together?"

"I was going to bring that up, but I thought it'd be rude to ask. Family matters and all." Lysander muttered, cheeks flushed. 

"Not at all. Please, come with me." Albus said firmly, a bit of wavering desperation in his voice. 

Lysander thought not of why Albus didn't want to go in alone, merely seeing a friend who needed a friend. Before he _could_ ask anything further, the smooth-voiced witch called again. "Three hundred forty five!"

Lysander got up and offered a hand to Albus, who accepted, a twinkle in his eye. The pair stepped up to the witch.

Bhavna was taller than both of them, in long, ornate, periwinkle robes. Her black hair reached her waist, and atop her head sat a lime green witch's hat. "Are you both three hundred forty five?" 

"Yes." Lysander said, as if it were the most matter-of-fact thing. Albus snickered. 

Bhavna eyed the pair up and down. Her gaze never even faltered when it met Albus, who, at first glance, could be mistaken for his famously-famous father. She did not question any further, as she was hungry, tired, and truly didn't have the mental strength for that bullshit right now. "...right this way."

* * *

Hermione Granger barely had time to think lately. The Ministry was abuzz as summer made its way to them like a storm cloud. Applications from Hogwarts graduates, citations from dragon-care startups for improper conditions, and all of it was weighing on the Minister. She took a deep breath as 344 left the room & ran a hand through her grey-streaked, bushy brown hair.

In the time between clients 344 and 345, she walked slowly around her office, taking deep breaths as recommended by her psychologist. She was exhausted, and she hadn't spoken to Ron, Hugo, or Rose apart from breakfast, where she typically worked whilst Ron cooked. This summer, however, she was spending every night in her office, slamming coffee and one of George's newest products, Insomnia-Inducing Elixr.  
  
Her golden-and-beige robes shimmered in the sunlight, as did her dark skin, but the sun's benevolence didn't last. Her vision was assaulted by a golden glint. "Bloody hell." She groaned, getting out of the light and rubbing her eyes. When she opened them, she was eye to eye with what had glinted. Her wedding ring. It was a lovely, smooth, golden ring with a ruby heart in the center. Hermione couldn't help but smile as she removed it, inspecting it as if she hadn't seen it every day for the past two decades. 

The inside of the band was engraved with an otter and a Jack Russell Terrier, chasing each other along the ring. Hermione was grinning ear to ear now, thinking of how she and Ron chased each other around Mrs Weasley's orchard years ago, when they were younger. A small giggle slipping from her lips. Abrubtly, the door opened. Hermione shoved her ring back on her finger and turned around to see her nephew and godson burst into the room. 

"Boys!" She blurted, her smile remaining, but twitching somewhat as she processed their sudden appearance. 

"Evening, Minister." Lysander said with a laugh.

"Hey, auntie." Said Albus with a small laugh and an even smaller wave.

"I don't suppose you're here to bring me an early birthday present." Joked Hermione. "Or to make up for last Christmas." 

Albus smiled, but did not speak. Hermione frowned. "Have a seat, boys." She gestured to her desk.

They sat down, and she eyed them as if expecting them to initiate the conversation. "Well? What brings you two here? Is everything alright?" She asked, anxiety raising in her voice. 

"We're _fine_." Lysander assured, a warm look on his face. Hermione seemed to believe him, a smile flickered on her face, but she did not relax.

"Same reason as last time." Muttered Albus. Aunt and Nephew stared at each other as if trying to read each others' minds, then Hermione made a sort of slashing gesture with both arms. 

"Absolutely not!" She jumped out of her chair, throwing her arms out. "Totally and unequivocally, no!"

"Why?!" Albus jumped up too, meeting her gaze. Hermione squeaked a scoff and faced the window, hands behind her back.   
  
"Albus Severus!" Exclaimed Hermione in a shrill tone. "I denied your application the first fifty times, what makes you think I've changed my mind? Did you think bringing Lysander here would butter me up? You-I-..."

Her voice trailed off. Memories of she, Ron, and Harry breaking rules and lying to authority at Hogwarts flooded her mind, and she could no longer chastise Albus for trying to do the same. That was hypocrisy, and she tried to be better than that. "It's...much too-" 

"Dangerous." Albus finished for her, his anger turning to soft, desperate longing. "I know." He looked at her, and she turned and looked at him.

There seemed to be an understanding between them, and Hermione stepped forward, brushing Albus's cheek with her fingers. "Oh, Al." She pulled him into a hug. 

Albus could hardly breathe, this was the tightest hug of his life, she would surely crack his ribs. "Mum said it was okay." He managed to strain out. 

Hermione laughed, a single tear sliding down her face. She wiped it away with her hand, released Albus, sat back down, and scribbled with a quill, speaking out loud as she wrote. "I, Hermione Granger, Minister for Magic, Supreme Mugwump, do hereby authorize Albus Severus Potter to live and work in America for one year-"

"Two years." Albus corrected, hopeful.

Hermione glared at him, then went back to writing. "A year and a half, for MACUSA business relating to Dark Magic." She turned the parchment to Albus. "Good compromise?"

Albus was about to argue, but he nodded. 

Hermioned looked relieved. "Good. Sign the dotted line." He did. She folded the parchment into an airplane and set it in the center of the desk. With a flick of her wand it disappeared, and the three of them were staring at each other again, the sky outside darkening. "Is that it, then?" Hermione inquired, an eyebrow raised. 

"Uh-" Lysander looked from Albus to Hermione. He had been in his chair the entire time, witnessing the encounter. He didn't feel _awkward_ , per se, but dazed by the family argument, not sure where to go next. His throat seemed too dry to speak. 

"Oh, that's right, you were here for something too," Albus looked at Lysander. "Right?"

Lysander nodded. It was only now that the young pair realized they hadn't discussed what they were there for individually. After all, they hadn't had the time. He pulled the letter from his robes and waved it in the air. "I got this today." 

He set the letter on the desk, and Hermione picked it up and sighed. "America too?" He nodded with a smile. "Promise me this while you're there, both of you." They looked at her.

"Don't do anything stupid." She stamped another form. 

* * *

Lysander and Albus's hearts were pounding, their blood boiling with joyous excitement as they exited the office.

"America!" Lysander exclaimed. 

"America." Said Albus dreamily. 

"Here we come." Lysander punched the air. 

"Yeah, I-we?" Albus asked, their near-skipping pace slowing down as they walked back into the Atrium. 

"Right." Lysander's cheeks clouded pink. He chuckled. Truthfully, he felt a twinge of sadness. The blonde had forgotten he and Albus weren't going to America for the same reason.

"We can leave on the same day," Albus reassured him. "Make the trip together!" He liked the sound of that. A trip across the Atlantic, and he got to spend it with a friend.

"Oh, that sounds lovely." Lysander agreed, voice airy with daydreams of America. "By sea? We can use your dad's cloak to get on the boat, if you have it. The woman sent me some Muggle money, but if we're being honest I'd much rather use it for more...fun things once we're there." 

The two men engulfed with each other, heads full of mischief, hearts pounding, excitement coursing.

"Blimey, we haven't pulled something like that since school." Albus chuckled. "Deal."

"Meet at the Leaky Cauldron, Friday, half nine?" Lysander suggested as they came to the exit. Albus nodded, and they fist bumped and went their separate ways.

To be Continued, obviously. 


End file.
